Free The Humming Room by Ellen Potter Page B

topic of the Fanshaws. Once when they were studying geography, Mrs. Wixton pointedly said that they would focus on Brazil that day, and she turned her fusty old textbook to a section on the Amazon rain forest. The shiny, yellowed paper held some black-and-white photos of the jungle. Mrs. Wixton flipped through the pages, then stopped at a photo of a squat, thick-bellied man, wearing nothing but a cloth around his waist. In his hand was a limp, lifeless monkey, held by the scruff of its neck.
    â€œFascinating place, the Amazon,” Mrs. Wixton said. “But then you must know quite a bit about it.”
    â€œWhy would I?” Roo asked irritably.
    â€œBecause of her, ” Mrs. Wixton said. “Your aunt. Mr. Fanshaw’s late wife.” She was baiting Roo, trying yet again to glean some information about Uncle Emmett. But this time, Roo herself was interested.
    â€œI never met her,” Roo said.
    â€œBut you must have heard about her,” Mrs. Wixton pressed.
    Roo shook her head, hating to admit it, yet hoping that Mrs. Wixton would tell her more.
    â€œWell, she came from Brazil, apparently. A little village on the edge of the rain forest. Her name was Ana. Your uncle spotted her on one of his trips and was instantly smitten, or so the story goes.” Mrs. Wixton was clearly thrilled to be able to offer up information that Roo didn’t have. “I saw her once in Clayton with Mr. Fanshaw. She was quite striking, with beautiful long black hair. But she had a wild look about her. I felt sorry for her, I actually did. Fish out of water. Though of course your uncle was so kind to her,” she added carefully. “All that gossip after she passed away made me sick to my stomach.”
    â€œWhat gossip?” Roo asked.
    â€œOh, folks around here will say anything, especially if it’s about Summer People.”
    â€œWhat did they say?”
    â€œWell,” Mrs. Wixton began, rising off the bed for a moment to adjust her skirt, “some people believe she was murdered.” She waited a beat to see that she had Roo’s full interest before she continued. “It was because her death was so strangely sudden. She had been perfectly healthy and well, according to the people who had been working in this house. And then, quite out of the blue, she was dead. And to make matters worse, your uncle refused to speak about it. He immediately fired everyone who had been in the house, except Ms. Valentine. It made people suspicious.”
    â€œWho do they think killed her?” Roo asked.
    Mrs. Wixton now shifted on the bed, straightening her spine and crossing her legs. “Of course it was all malicious nonsense.”
    â€œThey don’t think it was my uncle, do they?” Roo asked, shocked. Her uncle had seemed cold and hard, but killing his own wife…she couldn’t imagine it.
    â€œHow did we get on this topic in the first place?” Mrs. Wixton looked at Roo as if it had been her idea. “Okay, hocus-pocus, let’s try to focus.” She patted the pages of the textbook.
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    As the days wore on, Roo’s captivity became harder and harder for her to bear. The bright spring light teased at her through the windows. She ached to be outside. The sun was melting deeper into the ground, waking everything up. The earth would be singing by now, and she was missing it! A hundred times a day she felt ready to bolt out of the room, fly down the stairs, and run outside to freedom. But the threat of being sent back to the Burrows kept her rooted. Gradually she began to feel sleepy and slow witted. Her pencil would droop in her hand while her mind wandered, though when Mrs. Wixton jolted her with a small shake and asked her what she was daydreaming about, she couldn’t remember.
    She was glad for any time outdoors, even if she was under constant guard by Mrs. Wixton. As soon as she felt the sun on her skin she awoke. She ran around the island, knowing that